


newborns

by facingthenorthwind (spacegandalf), poppunkpadfoot



Series: mea culpa (pick yourself off the ground) [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Child Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Past Child Abuse, Regulus Black Deserves Better, Regulus Black Redemption, Toddler Nymphadora Tonks - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:27:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23713594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacegandalf/pseuds/facingthenorthwind, https://archiveofourown.org/users/poppunkpadfoot/pseuds/poppunkpadfoot
Summary: There are kinds of grief that make newborns out of us.— Jenny XieIn the aftermath of his brother's death, Regulus is sent to live with his estranged cousin, Andromeda.
Relationships: Regulus Black & Andromeda Black Tonks, Regulus Black & Sirius Black, Regulus Black & Ted Tonks
Series: mea culpa (pick yourself off the ground) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1707919
Comments: 22
Kudos: 103





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Heed the tags, folks, this is... dark. Thank you to Noelle and Gina for being our toddler behaviour specialists!

It had only been four years since Regulus had last seen Andromeda at some family gathering a scant few months before she was disowned, but as he stood in front of her house while the Ministry official accompanying him unloaded his trunk, he felt like he barely recognised her.

“Regulus,” she said, seeming momentarily at a loss — she was twisting her hands in front of her absentmindedly, and Regulus’s eyes honed in on the repetitive gesture so that he wouldn’t have to look her in the face. “I — welcome.”

She cringed as soon as the word left her mouth, and somehow that made him feel ever so slightly better — she didn’t know what to do here either. It wasn’t just him being somehow deficient. It only made him feel better for a second, though, before all the… all the _everything_ settled back down onto his shoulders.

It had been less than a week since the inquest, since — since both his parents had been arrested. The Ministry had put him up in the Leaky until they could arrange a permanent home for him, and apparently that home was with the cousin he saw the least of.

And for good reason. In fact, said reason had just appeared and was standing in the doorway behind Andromeda. “I’m Ted,” Andromeda’s husband said, holding out a hand, and Regulus shook it on autopilot. He wasn’t sure how to say words, so he just nodded. “We’re so sorry about everything, and if we can do anything to make your life easier, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Regulus nodded again. He was not, however, going to be asking Ted for anything.

“Mrs Tonks,” the Ministry official said. She had told Regulus her name at some point, but he’d forgotten instantly. “Do you have any questions for me? Someone will be back in a week to check how everything’s going.”

“No, I don’t think so. Is that — are those all his things?” she asked, pointing to the two trunks the Ministry official had placed next to Regulus.

Regulus bristled a little — he was _right here_. “I had to pack quickly,” he said coldly. “My house was still a crime scene at the time, you see.”

“Of course,” Andromeda said, and she had the decency to look sorry for it. “As soon as we get word from the Ministry, you can go back to get anything you’ve forgotten — or we can buy you new things, whatever you prefer.”

“I haven’t forgotten anything.” This was a lie. Regulus had, in fact, forgotten several things, but he didn’t need any of them badly enough to justify ever stepping foot in that house again. 

“Anything you find you miss, then. I know there were plenty of things I wished I’d taken when I — when I left.” 

Regulus chose not to point out that she was in control of when she left, so she shouldn’t have forgotten anything — she had plenty of time to plan. He also chose not to say what he was thinking, which was that the only thing he _missed_ was his _brother_ , and he very much thought they could not go back for him.

“He will have access to all of his family’s vaults, of course,” the Ministry official said. “The keys are in his trunk.”

Right, brilliant, of course the Ministry official would just announce that, right in front of Ted. Regulus was going to be bankrupt before he reached seventeen.

“It’s fine, we can manage,” Andromeda said, looking directly at Regulus for reasons Regulus could not fathom. “You’ll be in charge of the vault, we won’t touch it.”

She was likely just saying that in front of the Ministry official. 

“Come on, we’ll get you inside, give you a cup of tea, and you can meet Dora.”

Dora? Who the hell was Dora?

“Regulus, if you need anything, you have my card. You can write to me at any time. If you need to leave, you know how to summon the Knight Bus, don’t you?” the Ministry official said.

Regulus nodded, even though he had no idea what the Knight Bus was. 

“Right then,” said the Ministry official brusquely. “Take care,” and with that she turned on her heel and left Regulus alone.

Ted took his two trunks and Regulus was struck by the certainty he would steal them, but all he did was walk with Regulus inside the house to what looked like a spare bedroom and put them down. “It looks a bit plain for now,” he said, “but you can decorate it any way you want. Just let us know if you want supplies or anything. Or if you want us to do any spells, since you’re — you’re still underage, right?”

Regulus nodded. Of course he was still underage, why else would he be staying with them?

“Right. Let’s go get you a cup of tea, then. We told Dora that she shouldn’t bother you for the first few days because you had been through a really rough time, but she was so excited that she might have forgotten. She’s been talking about you nonstop ever since we heard back from the Ministry that you could stay with us.”

Regulus still did not know who Dora was, but that mystery was solved as soon as they turned the corner, whereupon there was an incredibly high-pitched squeal.

“REGLUS!” a bafflingly small human shouted in a bafflingly loud voice. Was her - was this tiny child’s hair _green?_ What kind of house did Andromeda keep?

She ran towards him but skidded to a stop just before she barrelled into him. Regulus liked to think she would not have taken him out at the knees, but he was secretly glad he didn’t have to test that theory. “Come play with me!” she said without any preamble, her little hand clutching onto his robes and tugging.

Ted made an apologetic face at him (infuriating) before looking down at the child. “Remember your manners, pet. Why don’t you introduce yourself to Regulus first?”

Dora nodded before taking a big breath and looking up at Regulus. “Hello Reglus, I’m Dora and I’m three and I like dragons and jam.”

“Er — how do you do,” replied Regulus stiffly. “I’m, uh, fifteen.”

At this, Dora looked awed. She bounced up and down slightly, and then… her hair turned pastel pink? Regulus looked at Ted, alarmed.

“She’s a metamorphmagus,” Ted said proudly, smiling at Dora. “She can already do a great pig nose.”

“Look at me!” Dora cried, and scrunched her face up dramatically. There was a long pause before, with a sudden pop, her nose did in fact turn into a pig’s snout, and her face shifted into an expression of triumph. Well, something like that. The snout made it a bit hard to tell.

“Good job!” Ted encouraged, but Dora wasn’t looking at him — she was looking at Regulus expectantly.

“Yes,” said Regulus helplessly. “Very — very proportionate.”

Dora snorted like a pig and giggled before returning to a human nose. “Come play!” she said again, more insistent now than before.

Under _no circumstances_ did Regulus want to go play. He was exhausted by the very notion. He wasn’t sure how to say that nicely, though, so he sort of just stood there for a moment, struggling for words. Luckily, though, Ted jumped in to save him; perhaps his discomfort was plainly written on his face. “Dora, why don’t you and I go play in the backyard? I don’t think Regulus is up for playing today. We talked about this, remember?”

If Dora did remember, it didn’t seem to matter. She pouted dramatically, this time tugging at Regulus’s robes with both hands. “Wanna play with Reglus!” she cried. Regulus, for his part, used every ounce of his willpower to stay still and not pull his robes from her grasp; it seemed like that could knock her off balance, and she might hurt herself. He very much did not want to play, but he also didn’t want to hurt Dora. It wasn’t her fault that she was a very excited baby.

Ted crouched down so that he and Dora were eye-level. “Sweetheart, I know you want to play. But Regulus is very tired, and he doesn’t want to play today. Why don’t you say goodbye for now, and you and I will go have some fun outside, okay?”

Dora huffed, and for a moment Regulus worried that she was going to start shrieking or crying or something. Instead, though, she released his robes and patted him a few times on the leg. “Reglus needs a nap?”

Ted was giving him another apologetic look, which he pretended not to see. “Regulus will be fine, love. He just can’t play today. Come on, let’s go to the garden - it was raining earlier, maybe we’ll find some snails.”

‘Snails’ seemed to be the magic word, because Dora went from pouting up at Regulus to beaming at her father almost dizzyingly quickly. She toddled into his arms and he picked her up without further ado, walking quickly out the back door before she could change her mind.

With Ted and Dora out of the way, Regulus finally went into the kitchen, where Andromeda was arranging a plate of biscuits. “Met Dora, then?” she said, smiling softly. “She’s a bit of a handful, but she’ll calm down once she’s more used to you, I think.”

Regulus very faintly heard the sound of yelling from outside. She did not seem any calmer now that she was out of his presence.

“Tea?” Andromeda continued. “I was about to make myself some, it’d be no trouble.”

Regulus shrugged, which Andromeda seemed to interpret as a ‘yes, please’, as she turned away from him to fill up the kettle in the sink. Regulus, for his part, just stood in the doorway fidgeting a little. Merlin, he hated this. Was he the only one holding tension in every muscle in his body? Were they really all going to pretend that this was all just going to be fine and normal, that they were going to be some big happy family? Andromeda and Ted didn’t really want him here, no matter how much they both pretended, and he didn’t want to be here either, so he didn’t know why they were bothering. (Well — unless it was for money, which wasn’t really unlikely.) If they were _actually_ concerned about him, his question would have been answered already; he wouldn’t even need to ask. But apparently he did, so he stood there watching Andromeda make tea, trying to gather up the energy to force the words out.

Finally, as Andromeda was pulling two mugs out of a cupboard, he managed it.

“What about the funeral?”

Andromeda very nearly dropped both mugs. She fumbled them dramatically, just barely regaining her grip and stopping them smashing on the floor. When she turned to him, her eyes were wide and startled, and she seemed to have gone pale. 

“I — I don’t —” she stammered.

“There is going to be a funeral, right?” he pressed, not willing to drop it just because Andromeda was a little put off. “I mean, we are going to bury him, aren’t we? Or were you planning to just let him rot in some morgue until they… I don’t know, incinerate him or put him in a pauper’s grave? Are we going to just _abandon_ him?”

Andromeda stood there for a moment, her mouth opening and closing like she was some kind of fish, and when she put the mugs down on the bench her hands were shaking.

“I hadn’t — I’m so sorry, Regulus. With — with everything, I hadn’t even considered… yes, of course we’ll have to give him a funeral. Would you be willing to help plan it? I want to honour his life, but it’s been years, and… well, I never knew him as well as I’d have liked. Maybe I should have —” She stopped abruptly, shaking her head. Regulus thought maybe there were tears in her eyes, which made him want to roll his. What did she know of Sirius? And anyway, it was quite rich of her to get all teary about it when she’d _forgotten_ until he reminded her.

“His friends, too,” Regulus said. He didn’t want to say that they knew Sirius better than he did, but it was probably true. “Potter and Lupin and Pettigrew.” 

“Would you like to write to them?” Andromeda said, and for a moment Regulus wanted to say no. They probably didn’t want to hear from him, anyway — he had been mean to Sirius, he hadn’t even realised… he’d been blind to the way his parents had treated his brother, choosing not to see it because his position as golden child was secure. They probably all wished it had been him instead. They almost certainly wouldn’t take kindly to hearing from him. But — but what would it look like if he made Andromeda do it? It would seem like Regulus didn’t care at all, and he thought of the trial, when Potter had sat next to him, a comforting hand on his back. He wanted to prove to Potter that he was worth it, he wanted to — redeem himself, somehow. This was his fault, after all. If he’d supported Sirius more, or just recognised that what their parents were doing wasn’t okay, or if he’d told someone about it, before — 

“Yeah,” he said, his throat tight. “I’ll write to Potter, he might not throw my letter away unopened.”

Andromeda didn’t seem to know what to make of that statement. She made a strange, aborted movement as though she meant to approach him, but thought better of it.

“If he doesn’t respond in a week we can go visit him — I think I know where the Potter place is. Would you like help with the letter?”

Regulus shook his head. The only thing more mortifying than writing this letter to Potter would be Andromeda watching him while he did it. 

“Alright. I’ll make sure Dora doesn’t disturb you again until dinner. I’ll contact Julia about Sirius’s — his body, and what sort of things we need to do before we can hold a funeral. Let me know if you need anything, alright? We don’t have a house elf, but I’m the next best thing.” She tried to smile, but it didn’t quite look right.

The concept of treating Andromeda Black (Tonks? It would be Tonks now, wouldn’t it?) like Kreacher might have made Regulus laugh in any other context. Right now, though, he rather felt as though he couldn’t laugh if he tried.

He went to his room, steaming mug of tea in hand, and sat at the small desk by the window. This room was so different to his bedroom — his old bedroom. The walls were painted off-white, there was a cheery painting of children playing on a beach hanging opposite the door, and the bed was possibly the smallest one he’d ever seen. The window was much bigger than his, though, and looked out onto a small meadow rather than a grey London street.

As he was looking out at the sparrows doing… whatever sparrows did, Andromeda knocked before opening the door. Wasn’t she going to leave him alone? 

“Sorry, I just remembered — here’s some parchment and a quill and ink, you probably didn’t pack any.”

She was right, of course, but he scowled a little anyway. “Thanks,” he mumbled, taking her offering without looking up. He kept his eyes down, looking at the obviously brand new quill and unopened pot of ink until the door clicked shut.

_Dear James Potter,_ he began, even though it felt absurd. _I know you probably don’t want to hear from me, but ~~I was wondering if~~ we are having a funeral for Sirius and ~~I don’t know what to do~~ I thought you might want to be involved in the planning. You knew him best. I understand if you don’t want to talk to me about this, and if you prefer, you can send your reply to Andromeda Tonks. She’s the one doing the organising. ~~Did Sirius ever tell you about her? She’s our cousin, but she got disowned for marrying a Muggleborn and now I’m staying with her and she has a tiny daughter who’s a metamorphmagus and Regulus stop writing this he doesn’t care.~~_

_I’m so, so sorry. I wish I had listened to him. I would do anything to have him back, I’m so sorry._

_Regulus Arcturus Black_

He looked down at the messy parchment, with all of its scratched-out lines and a few unsightly blots, and knew that he should probably copy the letter more neatly onto a new scroll. But the thought of doing so exhausted him, although he knew that was hardly reasonable — the task itself would expend hardly any energy at all, but still, he couldn’t make himself do it. So he just sent it before he could make some sensible choice like ripping it up and making Andromeda write the letter.

* * *

He spent the rest of the afternoon alternately looking at the small collection of books in the bookshelf in his room (a mix of muggle novels, some history books and some unimaginably dull school textbooks) and staring out of the window. He couldn’t remember how he passed the time before, back home. 

At last, the sun slowly sank lower in the sky and there was another knock on his door. “Dinner,” Ted said as he opened it, and Regulus jumped slightly. It felt like he’d just been drifting alone for hours — but it probably hadn’t been more than two and a half. The clock said it was quarter to six. When Ted saw him looking, he said, “Sorry, we eat early here — Dora, you know.”

Regulus did not know, although if he pondered it for a moment, he thought it might be safe to assume that small children go to bed very early. 

Dora insisted on sitting next to him at dinner, which was ‘bangers and mash’, as Ted called it. Although Andromeda had given her a fork, she eschewed it in favour of shoving bite-sized bits of sausage into her mouth with her bare hands. (Had Regulus ever been this slovenly? Surely not, his mother never would have allowed it.) Neither Andromeda nor Ted seemed particularly bothered; in fact, neither of them seemed to even notice. Regulus considered saying something, but then he decided that if Andromeda wanted to raise her child to have terrible manners, that wasn’t his problem.

“Me and Da saw a bird outside,” Dora told him through a mouthful of food. “A blue one.”

“How nice,” he replied without enthusiasm, prodding at his own food. He hadn’t eaten much of anything all day, but he didn’t seem to be at all hungry.

“Do you need Da to cut up yours too?” Dora asked. “Da, cut up Reglus’s sausage?”

“I’m sure Regulus can cut up his own sausage, pet,” Ted said, smiling softly at Dora. 

He could feel Dora’s eyes on him as he continued to toy with his food, which just made him feel even more tense and even less like eating. He had half a mind to tell her to mind her own bloody business, but as she was a baby, she would probably just start crying.

“Eat some!” she piped up again after a few more minutes, kicking her tiny foot out against his leg. He gritted his teeth a little, offering nothing more than a shrug in response.

“Dora, sweetheart —” Andromeda began, but Dora didn’t even seem to notice her.

“It’s ‘cause your brother went away?” she persisted.

“Dora!” Andromeda said quickly, dropping her fork onto her plate with a clatter. “I’m so sorry, Regulus —”

“He didn’t ‘go away’,” Regulus snapped, with force that surprised even him. “He died — he was murdered.”

It was the first time he’d said it out loud, and he felt abruptly quite ill. He absolutely did not want to see the look on anyone’s face as he stood up and walked as quickly as he could to his room, slamming the door. There was a lock on it, but it was just a simple one that could be undone with alohomora, so he didn’t bother.

He was quite sure someone had said something as he left, but he hadn’t heard it, nor did he care. 

He threw himself down onto the bed and stared furiously up at the ceiling, as though if he stared at it hard enough it would crumble away to reveal the familiar canopy above his bed at home, Sirius’s music playing from the next room over. Of course, this did not happen. He’d always hated Sirius’s stupid muggle music, played far too loud (surely he hurt his ears?). It sounded to Regulus like so much atonal shouting, but he would do just about anything to hear it again, as long as it meant Sirius was the one playing it.

He grabbed the pillow from behind his head and put it over his head, trying to choke down the urge to scream into it, but ultimately failing.

He didn’t even have anyone to fucking talk to — he hadn’t written to his friends from school since before Sirius died, and he had no inclination to do so now. None of them thought much of his brother — he knew, though he didn’t want to think about it, that most of them would be glad he was gone. One fewer blood traitor — what was there to cry about? He could just imagine their responses: _Sorry to hear you’re upset, Reg. It might be worth remembering that there are sides in this war, and your brother chose the wrong one. It was bound to happen eventually. Hope you cheer up soon —_ and Andromeda and Ted were acting like… like this was normal, like he was here for a fucking social visit, and he couldn’t see any future.

Time just stretched on, impossibly blank. No one came to check on him. At some point, between one breath and the next, he fell asleep and didn’t dream.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we are so bad at actually.... continuing what we start. but we did it! at last! most of this chapter has existed for months, we're sorry. thanks to ivy for looking this over!

Regulus was woken by someone jumping directly onto his stomach. “You’re back!” Dora screeched in his ear. “I thought you went away but Da said I wasn’t sposed to go in your room but he’s sleeping and you’re here!”

He should maybe have responded to her, but he was too disoriented. For just a moment, he forgot everything that happened, before it all came crashing back down onto him. He was in a bedroom that was not his, and there was a very tiny human on top of him trying to crush the air out of his lungs. When he craned his neck to look at the clock, it had just gone seven. Even after ten or eleven hours’ sleep, he felt exhausted.

“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” Regulus mumbled. “Can you get off me?”

Dora rolled off him, kneeing him in the kidney with deadly precision in the process. He couldn’t help the pained grunt he let out, but Dora hardly seemed to notice. Were all toddlers this inconsiderate?

“D’you like dragons?” Dora asked for some reason (Regulus certainly hadn’t brought up dragons), looking up at him from the bedroom floor with wide, unblinking eyes. They were purple this morning, which was disconcerting to say the least.

“Er,” said Regulus, unsure how to explain that he had no particular feelings towards dragons (majestic and noble beasts, but not ones he was all that interested in on a personal level). He didn’t have long to think about it, though, before Dora produced a large and very unrealistically-fluffy stuffed dragon seemingly from out of nowhere, and proceeded to plop it onto his chest.

“Da brings me Pogo when I’m sad,” she said by way of explanation. “You can borrow him.”

Regulus stared at her. He… didn’t want the dragon, obviously, because he was fifteen and not a child, but he suspected that refusing the offering would upset Dora, and he had _no_ idea how to calm her down if that happened. Besides, a small part of him couldn’t help but feel… well, touched. 

When they were children, Sirius used to bring Regulus his stuffed bear, Archie, whenever he was sick or had a nightmare. Then Sirius turned eleven and went away to Hogwarts, and when he came home for Christmas, everything was different. Their parents were colder, and Sirius was angrier, and three days after arriving home he got in an argument with their mother that ended in Archie being thrown into the sitting room fire. That night, Regulus had crept into Sirius’s bedroom with his own stuffed animal, a rabbit, but Sirius hadn’t taken it — he’d just told him to go away. After that, the distance between them only grew; Sirius kept rebelling, their parents kept punishing him, and when Regulus was sick or scared or sad, he was left to deal with it alone. But now here was Dora, offering up her dragon even though he had snapped at her the night before, and he suddenly felt like he might cry.

“Thank you,” he managed. “That’s very kind.”

Dora beamed at him, and opened her mouth to respond — but before she could, there was a soft knock on the door. “Regulus?” came Andromeda’s voice quietly from the other side. “Are you awake? I’m making breakfast.”

Regulus had no real interest in going downstairs for breakfast; he didn’t think he could stand another awkward meal around the kitchen table, with Dora pestering him and Andromeda and _Ted_ acting as though everything were fine. Unfortunately, his stomach had other ideas — he was painfully hungry. With a resigned sigh, he swung his legs over the side of his bed, Dora clambering down after him.

When he opened the door he half expected Andromeda to be standing there with her wand out, ready to teach him a lesson about how appropriate it was for a Black child to disobey. He’d seen Sirius prepare for battle with his parents before — he never seemed to understand that prevention was the best cure, and instead experimented with ever more obscure shielding charms to mitigate the damage from whatever curses their parents found appropriate. It hadn’t taken all that long before his parents started checking and dispelling any measures Sirius had taken to protect himself. 

On the other hand, Andromeda and Ted didn’t seem like the sort to routinely curse anyone, let alone their toddler, so it was possible he had at least a few opportunities to shield himself before they noticed. Unfortunately, he had never paid attention to what spells Sirius cast. He would have to go to the library in Diagon Alley for reading material, assuming he could find a way to get out of the house for a while.

Dora opened the door before he could decide what he was going to do. The corridor was empty, and Dora pulled on Regulus’s hand, leading him down the stairs. He could hear the wireless playing softly as he entered, some song he didn’t recognise fading out to a voice talking about the chances of Puddlemere rebuilding to become a cup contender in the upcoming season.

“Good morning,” Ted said to Regulus as he entered, stifling a yawn. He was in his dressing gown and as he walked over to give Dora a hug Regulus could see he was wearing tartan slippers. “Where did you go off to this morning, little miss? Didn’t we tell you not to bother Regulus?”

Dora opened her mouth to say something but before she could, Regulus butted in. “She didn’t bother me,” he said quickly. “She — she brought me a dragon. It was… nice.” It was the least he could do to cover for her so she wouldn’t get in trouble. He sure as hell hadn’t done that enough before, so he could start now.

Ted raised his eyebrows, but smiled at him. “I’m glad.” Then, turning his head to address Dora, he continued, “It was very kind of you to give him Pogo, darling, but that doesn’t mean you can go wake him up in the mornings, alright? I’m sure Pogo could have waited until after breakfast.”

Dora squirmed a little but mumbled, “Okay.”

“What do you usually have for breakfast, Regulus? Andromeda’s making eggs and bacon, but we have toast or cornflakes or yoghurt.” Ted didn’t seem like he was waiting for Dora to leave the room before giving Regulus a good thrashing. He didn’t seem cross about his behaviour last night at all, in fact, which threw Regulus off. Perhaps he didn’t know the standards one should hold a Black child to, but Andromeda would. Andromeda would know the right curses, even if she weren’t used to people fighting back.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, his intention being that he did not want to boss Andromeda about, but the words came out clumsily and sounded rude instead. “Eggs are fine,” he added, trying to salvage it. “Thanks.”

Andromeda served Dora first, a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon that Dora went to eat with her hands before Andromeda gave her a stern look and she picked up a fork instead. Next she gave Regulus his own plate of scrambled eggs and toast and he murmured his thanks, not quite meeting her eyes, just in case — he probably couldn’t escape punishment completely, but he might be able to reduce its severity if he made it clear he was remorseful.

“I’m sorry for my behaviour last night. It won’t happen again,” Regulus said, unsure whether he should look at her or not. He knew his father preferred that they look him in the eye so he could judge their sincerity, but his mother considered looking down a better display of contrition. 

“Relax, Regulus, we’re not going to curse you,” Andromeda said, and when Regulus looked up at her she was smiling.

Ted chuckled. “Why would he think—” The way he cut himself off made Regulus look up at him and he saw Ted’s eyes widen. “You know we would never — I promise, we’ll never curse you, Regulus.”

“Why not?” Regulus asked, his suspicion creeping into his voice. On one hand, this felt a little like looking a gift hippogriff in the mouth. On the other, he needed to know the logic so he didn’t accidentally do something to justify them going back on their word.

Ted floundered for a moment before saying, “Because... why would we _curse_ you?”

“What’s curse?” Dora asked, looking curiously at her father.

“It’s a big person thing, dear,” Andromeda said quickly. “We’ll talk about this later, alright Regulus?”

“Alright,” Regulus said, going back to his eggs and trying to push down the anxiety rising in the pit of his stomach. He was always fine as long as he knew where he stood, and Ted and Andromeda seemed bound and determined to pull the rug out from under his feet at every possible opportunity.

Before he had so much as a chance to regain his footing, there came an insistent, tell-tale tapping on the window. 

“I’ll get it,” Ted said, and Regulus heard rather than saw him go to the window and let the owl in. He wasn’t going to pry. “Regulus, it’s for you.”

Regulus looked up just in time to see an unfamiliar owl fly away. The writing on the letter Ted handed him was unfamiliar too, but that was more of a comfort than Regulus expected. The last thing he wanted was to hear from someone he knew.

_Hello Regulus._

_I have some ideas. If you don’t mind I’d prefer to talk them over in person._

_Andromeda knows where we live. She could bring you over sometime. Ask her if she’ll set it up with my mother._

_James_

“What’s it say?” Dora asked.

“Dora—”

“It’s, uh, from James Potter,” Regulus told her before she could be admonished. He’d already gotten her in trouble once that day — he didn’t want to do it again. “He says he wants to discuss the, uh, the arrangements in person. He says you know where they live?”

“Yes, of course,” Andromeda said as she finally sat down, passing Ted’s breakfast to him. “Has he given a time?”

“No, he… look.” He passed the letter across the table to her, both because it seemed easier than continuing the volley and because he didn’t think he could stand to look at it anymore. He could practically feel the resentment flowing off the page.

Andromeda scanned the page before handing it back to him. “I can floo call later this morning and we’ll see when they’re free,” she said, waiting for Regulus’s nod before she turned back to her breakfast. 

Regulus no longer had an appetite. He hadn’t really eaten supper the night before, and he was objectively very hungry, but his brain had decided not to focus on that and to focus on catastrophizing instead. Still, though, he choked down almost everything on his plate. Andromeda and Ted had been lenient with him once; they might not do it again.

* * *

When people took the floo to Grimmauld Place, they were spat out in the drawing room. When Regulus opened his eyes after stepping out of the fireplace at the Potter Manor, he was surprised to find he could see right into the kitchen. There wasn’t even a wall between the kitchen and the dining room! It looked like the worst possible layout for throwing parties or receiving important guests.

Perhaps the Potters didn’t have formal functions. After all, who would they invite? Who would even show up?

It was Mrs Potter who appeared first, sweeping into the room in a manner that was unexpectedly dignified. She smiled at the sight of them, which was… nothing short of disconcerting. Regulus saw James come in behind her, and Regulus was shocked to realise that he’d never seen James look sad. At school he seemed to try to take up as much space as possible, always smiling. Here in his own home he looked out of place, hunched in on himself, dark circles prominent around his eyes. 

“Hello again, Andromeda,” Mrs Potter said warmly. “And you must be Regulus? You—” Mrs Potter stopped and Regulus watched as she swallowed. “You look so much like him.”

“Thank you so much for having us,” Andromeda replied, and she sounded a bit unsure of herself — as though she wasn’t quite sure what to say, what tone to use. “And on such short notice.”

“Of course, it was no trouble,” Mrs Potter said. Regulus had the distinct impression that she was falling back on platitudes so she wouldn’t have to think about why they were there. “I — tea?” she offered, floundering a little.

“Oh — if it’s not a bother—”

“No, no, not at all…”

The two women seemed to have a brief and silent conversation, wherein many words seemed to pass between them unspoken. By the end of it, they looked to have reached some sort of mutual understanding. “James, darling,” said Mrs Potter softly, “would you see our guests to the sitting room, please? I’m just going to prepare some refreshments, I’ll only be a minute.”

“I’ll help you,” Andromeda interjected, in a tone that brooked no argument.

“Alright,” Mrs Potter said. “Boys, you can go sit down, we’ll be in soon.”

Regulus had certainly not warmed to Andromeda in the twenty-four hours since he’d found himself marooned in her house, but he was suddenly struck by the urge to ask her not to leave him alone. Or — not with Potter, anyway. He remembered the way James had looked at him in the hallway outside the inquest — the way he’d spoken to him when he was sitting in the witness chair — and he felt abruptly sick, wishing he’d brought his wand with him so he could — so he could what? Do magic outside of school and get expelled? 

He was so busy not looking at James that he almost missed it when the older boy beckoned for him to follow him out of the room. He caught it out of the corner of his eye, though, and drew himself up before following him into a room that looked about as far from the Black family drawing room as possible. This was a room that looked lived in — there was some wear on the sofa and the cushions were slightly askew. A half-filled out crossword sat on the coffee table, which had a few round water stains scattered across its surface. It was hardly a proper sitting room. The Potters _really_ must not have company around often.

The biggest difference, though, was the photos. They were along every wall, and Regulus could see they were in chronological order — wedding photos of Mr. and Mrs. Potter, James’s baby photos, the progression from a chubby toddler to a boy standing in front of the Hogwarts Express, his robes slightly too big for him. Sirius appeared in photographs almost immediately after that — usually candid shots of him with James or Lupin or Pettigrew, but other times the four of them grinned at the camera in clearly posed shots.

Regulus had never once seen Sirius happy in a photograph before.

Black family photographs were never candid, for one thing, and Sirius always had the air of someone who was uncomfortable in the robes he was wearing (even though Regulus knew they fit him perfectly — why would a Black go around in anything less than impeccably tailored clothes?). Sometimes, especially in the more recent photos, Sirius would actively try to sneak out of frame. At best, he looked bored, waiting for something to be over.

Regulus had always assumed Sirius just hated being in front of a camera. When he really examined it, that didn’t make any sense — there was nothing about Sirius that said shrinking violet. And here in front of him was definitive proof to the contrary — far from shrinking, Sirius shone, laughing and joking around with whoever was in the frame with him, his easy smile lighting up each photograph. There was even one where _he_ dragged someone back into frame — when the Photograph Sirius succeeded, Regulus saw it was Lupin, who sported a nasty cut on his forehead and a black eye. It was jarring to see the mild-mannered Lupin looking so roughed up, but more jarring to see the way that the Sirius in the photograph threw his arm carelessly around the other boy’s shoulders and pulled him in.

Then his eyes landed on a Potter family portrait, and he decided he needed to look away before he completely dissolved. It was _nothing_ like a Black family portrait; where those had always been stiff, posed, perfectly formal, this photo seemed to capture a moment in time. James stood between his parents, his father’s hand on his shoulder, the two of them sporting matching grins; on his other side, his mother stood, her arm looped through his — and then, beside her, looking completely at home, was Sirius. He had clearly cooperated in posing for the camera, but only for a few moments, as the Sirius in the photograph kept breaking his pose — not to edge out of the frame, but to wrap both arms tightly around Mrs. Potter’s waist and to kiss her exuberantly on the cheek. Far from seeming aggrieved, Mrs. Potter was _laughing_ , and Photograph James and Photograph Sirius kept exchanging pleased grins, and— 

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” he managed, and he wanted to look away from the photos but there was nowhere else to look but at James, which was a _much_ worse option. How many times had Sirius stood where he was standing? Did he call James his brother?

“Yeah, Regulus, I know,” James said, but he sounded reluctant. “But it still happened, didn’t it?”

The image that flashed unbidden across his mind at that made him dizzy, and he swayed slightly on the spot. To his immense surprise, James’s hand landed almost immediately on his shoulder.

“Let’s sit down,” he said, still sounding reluctant, but there was something else there that Regulus couldn’t quite put his finger on. “You wanted to talk, right? Come on. Let’s talk.”


End file.
